Things To Do Before You Die
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Faith missing scene: The drive to Nebraska leaves a lot of time to talk.


**Things to Do Before You Die**  
K Hanna Korossy

Dean slept a lot on the way.

That didn't surprise him nor seemed to Sam, who at least wasn't getting all choked up over everything since he'd found his "specialist" in Nebraska. Probably just focused on Dean making it to the doc. Dean wasn't sure what to think about that one yet. He was no fan of false hope, but if it wiped that look of misery and incipient sappy conversation off Sam's face for a few of Dean's final days, he didn't have it in him to regret it. And so they were on their way to Nebraska, him dozing, Sam full of nervous excitement, their road trip having just taken a turn into strange territory, even for them. And that was saying a lot.

But then, he wasn't usually dying, either.

Dean was a realist and knew this was probably their final journey together. He didn't want to sleep through the whole thing, no matter how mushy Sam was feeling and how lousy Dean was. And so when he blinked awake to passing darkness, and the distant ache that had settled permanently in his chest, and Sam's tightly focused expression, Dean pushed himself a little more upright instead of drifting off again. Time to face a far greater pain.

"Where are we?" he asked, hating the new weakness in his voice and the way Sam had to pretend not to hear it.

"Middle of Wyoming. We'll be there by morning." Sam had started dividing his attention between Dean and the road as soon as he'd stirred, and Dean was reminded of a few times he'd done that, too. Especially after one of Sam's nightmares. He would have to call Missouri before he was gone, ask her to keep an eye on Sam because he would need help with the visions or whatever he was having. Not much Dean could do about lonely car trips or Sam needing someone at his back, however. He hated that, too.

Dean grunted noncommittally, and yawned. Sam's face, already set in sympathetic lines Dean always felt like rolling his eyes at, softened even more.

"Why don't you sleep the rest of the way?"

"Nah, I'm good," Dean lied, except maybe not because even Sam at his most sentimental or confusing was better company than anyone else Dean knew, including their dad. It wasn't an effort to show interest, and there was precious little he could do now without effort. Dean grimaced to himself and changed the mental channel. "You know where we should go next, after Nebraska?"

Sam blinked, throwing him an odd look. "You mean, the next job?" he asked cautiously.

Dean winced. Not what he'd been aiming for. "Actually, I was thinking vacation. Maybe a little time off in Vegas—gambling, showgirls, nightlife that doesn't include hustling pool in honky-tonk bars…"

Sam, not surprisingly, wasn't buying it. "Dean, this is going to work," he said firmly.

"Yeah, Sam, whatever. I'm just sayin', Vegas."

Sam's mouth quirked. "So…if we can't find you a cure, you want to spend your last few days in Sin City? Retribution, penance—any of that mean anything to you?"

Man, he'd missed that whimsical tone. There hadn't been a trace of it before, despite Dean's attempts. Apparently, Sam believed enough in this specialist that death wasn't a forbidden subject anymore, and Dean was happy for that even though it hurt, too. "They've got churches in Vegas," he said with a smirk.

Sam was grinning now. "Yeah, for last-minute weddings performed by Elvis impersonators. Not exactly the place to find peace, Dean."

"Who says I don't have peace?" he asked, only half in jest this time.

Sam's smile faded. But while Dean quickly searched for a back door out of the _Terms of Endearment_ moment he'd accidentally initiated, his brother plowed on. Sam had always been the determined one. "If this doesn't work, we should go to California, find Dad."

Dean ran through the usual arguments in his head—Dad didn't want to be found, he'd told them not to look for him, he'd said it was dangerous—and found they didn't seem to carry the same weight they had a week before. Still, "Sam, I don't need Dad to be there." He wouldn't die alone, and he would be with someone he loved. Dean's wishlist was short.

"Yes," Sam said flatly, "you do." And, more softly, "I do, too."

Dean couldn't argue that one. He'd be gone, but Sam would be left to pick up the pieces. The casual tone was harder to force this time. "Okay, fine. California. But we start in SoCal, okay? Sun, surf, and girls."

The smile was sadder but no less real. "You have a one-track mind, Dean."

"Hey," he shrugged, "long as it's the right track." And grinned.

Okay, he'd learned something here. For all his optimism, Sam still wasn't ready to talk about this, not yet. Maybe after Nebraska bombed. Dean could wait. Acceptance took time, and he still remembered clearly Sam's little speech in Indiana about their being all that was left and seeing things through together. Winchesters always had lousy timing; would it have killed anyone—no pun intended—to give them a few months back together before Sam had to choke on his words? Dean just hoped in his more maudlin moments that he could hang in there long enough for Sam to deal.

Dean shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position he knew didn't exist. Sam glanced at him again, then reached in back for a blanket, but Dean shoved it away with an irritable, "Dude, lay off." No blanket or slower driving or moon-face would fix what bothered him now. Nor was that what a final road trip should be about, anyway.

Sam went back to driving, eyes hidden by that unruly fringe of hair.

Dean blinked tiredly and cast around for a more neutral subject. He grinned when he found one. "So, you ever keep one of those lists of things you want to do before you die?"

Sam frowned at him sideways, as if trying to figure out how serious Dean was being. "Maybe."

"Yeah?" he said, intrigued. "Like what?"

Sam shook his head, amused now. "You tell me yours first."

"I never had one." At Sam's disbelieving glance, Dean shrugged. "What? Live in the moment, bro. It's not like we knew where we'd be a week later. I wanted to catch Mom's killer, but other than that…?" He tilted his head in another tacit shrug.

"So…there's nothing you always wanted to do, no place you ever wanted to go?"

"Dude, we've been everywhere."

"Yeah, in this country. There's a lot of world out there, Dean. Didn't you ever want to visit Europe and see the old castles? Or South America and the Aztec ruins?"

"Generational ghosts and Quetzlcoatl—what, we haven't got enough monsters here at home?"

"It's not always about the monsters, Dean," Sam said urgently, like he was trying to make him understand.

Dean snorted, a little disappointed Sam was the one not getting it, and tried not to feel the completely non-physical pang. "It's always about the monsters, Sam," he said quietly.

It took three of those whiplash glances for Dean to see the dawn of understanding in his little brother's eyes. Ironic, in a twisted sort of way, getting each other a little better now that he was dying. Maybe that would help Sam, anyway, after.

And maybe Dean had been watching too many of those stupid dramas Sam liked.

"So, what's on your list?" Dean asked finally, when he'd mustered enough energy to be cheerful again. Or at least stoic.

It took Sam a moment to answer, and even then his smile was half-hearted. "I'm not telling you."

"Aw, c'mon."

"Forget it, Dean. You'll think it's stupid."

"No, I won't."

"Yeah, you will."

"Okay," he conceded, "maybe I will. Just tell me one thing, then. The least stupid one."

Sam's hands flexed on the wheel, and Dean wasn't sure if he was debating or choosing, not until he spoke. "I always wanted to build something," he said softly.

Dean's eyebrow went up. "What, like a model or something?"

"No, something bigger. A boat, maybe, or a house." The look he cast Dean was almost nervous, and killed any sarcastic comment he might have been tempted to utter. Talking about the future right now was shaky ground for them both.

But as long as he was alive, Dean was still the big brother. He gave Sam a small but rare genuine smile this time. "That's not stupid, Sam."

"Maybe." A dismissive twist of the body. "It's not like we could do anything with a house or a boat."

Permanence. Dean knew his brother had always longed for it. Not exactly something he was in any position to promise now, but he still had a few things left to give. "We could build a boat," Dean said casually.

"We?" Sam looked at him like he'd just offered to go on Dr. Phil.

"Why not? After Nebraska, before California—we gotta have something for the water, right?"

"Are you running a fever? Because I swear, Dean, you're freaking me out here."

Dean pressed his lips together. "Fine, never mind. I was just trying to…" He winced. Dying was definitely putting him off his game.

Sam drove on, not looking at him. And finally swallowed. "Yeah, okay. We could build a boat."

"Forget it."

"But you said—"

"That was before you made a big deal out of it," Dean said petulantly. "I don't want to anymore."

Sam's jaw was agape as he stared at Dean. "You are the most…"

Dean grinned at him. Sam sputtered. Yeah, okay, it wasn't exactly fixing things because there were some things Dean couldn't fix, even for Sam, although he would have given anything to do so. But it was something. And if Sam still wanted that boat after he got his specialist, Dean could at least do that much. Because he had no illusions who was the one really dying here.

Dean stared at his reflection in the mirror of the dark window, seeing the pallor and dark circles around his eyes. Sam probably saw death every time he looked at him, and Dean knew the feeling: Sam with blood trails from his eyes, lying on the ground with the life nearly choked out of him by a possessed lamp or a fake Dean, shrinking from the fire that claimed his girl. If Sam had suffered for days instead of moments, Dean had little doubt he'd have been the one calling all Dad's contacts and breaking down doors for a solution.

Dean cleared his throat. "I always wanted to see the Grand Canyon."

He could feel Sam's surprise. "You never—didn't we once—?"

"We were close, but Dad said there wasn't time for 'sightseeing.'"

"Yeah, that sounds like Dad," Sam said bitterly.

Dean ignored the barb for once, aware it wasn't completely undeserved. "It always just sounded cool, this huge crack in the earth." And, wow, that sounded a lot cornier out loud than it had in his head.

But Sam nodded agreement. "Jess and I went to see it last summer."

"Yeah?"

"It was amazing, Dean—it's like standing on top of the world and looking down inside it. You'll like it." Before Dean could comment on the tense, Sam's head bobbed to the side in a sort of acquiescence. "The Grand Canyon _is_ kinda between us and California."

"You're gonna make me write a list, aren't you?" Dean's mouth bent into a ghost of a smile, not fading even when a wave of pain hit, constricting his heart for a moment. He hadn't told Sam, but it was the second one since they'd started driving. Maybe he'd make it to the Grand Canyon, and even to see Sam's boat, but California was looking dim.

Dean swallowed, speaking in a rush before he lost his courage. "I wanna be buried next to Mom, Sam."

Sam's nose wrinkled, like he was suddenly fighting tears.

There was giving Sam time to deal, and then there were a few things Dean couldn't take the chance of waiting with. He plunged on. "Look, it'll be fine. Dad's gonna find the thing that killed Mom and Jess, and then you'll get to have your normal, boring life."

The Impala screeched to the side of the road, and Sam turned to him fiercely. "Don't_say _that."

"If I hadn't pulled you back into this—"

"—then Jess and I would both be dead. I'm not sorry about the last six months, Dean. And it's not over yet. Why are you just giving up like this?"

He pulled back, stung. "I'm not."

"Then cut out the martyr act and _fight_ this thing."

Dean almost sighed. "Sam—"

Sam threw open the door in a gust of wind and got out, slamming it behind him. Even as Dean tensed to follow, despite the fact he doubted he could go two feet, he saw Sam stop at the car's front bumper. Then he just stood there, hand sweeping through his hair before his head bent.

Okay, not exactly the way he'd pictured this going. Sam was usually all about the air-clearing conversations while Dean insisted on denial. The role-reversal was more than a little freaky. Then again, usually he was the one worried about Sam, not vice-versa.

And…maybe his brother had a point about giving up. Accepting his death for himself was a whole lot different than accepting it for Sam. Dean had never meant his realism to be taken for fatalism. If Sam saw hope here that he didn't, well, it wasn't like Dean was new to the whole denial thing, either, right?

He tucked one arm against his body, trying to keep it from jarring too much as he reached over with the other and honked the horn.

Sam jumped, half-turning to glower at him. Dean waved him impatiently back, and saw the struggle between Sam's worry and his anger. Worry won as Dean knew it would, and Sam strode back with long, vehement steps. He jerked the door open, bending over instead of sliding inside. "What?"

"Are you done pouting? I'm freezing here."

Sam glared at him, and finally got in, the car rocking with the force of the door shutting. "Dean—"

"Look, we're on our way to see this guy in Nebraska, right? Maybe you're right and he can do something."

Sam eyed him warily. "What happened to letting you die in peace?"

Dean's shoulders rose. "I forgot how stubborn you are. You come up with the answers some—"

"—most—"

"—of the time when you're not fooling yourself. If this doesn't pan out, you're the smart college boy, you'll think of something else." And when—if—he wouldn't, Dean would make sure he knew it didn't change a thing. He dropped his gaze. "Look, I may not believe in the whole 'having options' thing, Sam, but I believe in you, okay?" And because, oh, geez, he could already feel Sam getting emotional again, he quickly added, "So, can we go before I die of old age here?"

There was a moment when Sam could have gone either way, but finally laughed, if shakily. "Yeah, all right." Sam started the car again, chewed on his lip a moment. "But no matter what happens, we're going."

"Where, California?"

"The Grand Canyon."

Dean smiled. "In a boat?"

"In anything you want, boat, car, go-kart. I don't care, but we're going."

"Okay," Dean agreed easily.

Sam stared at him a moment longer, like he was making sure Dean meant it, then pulled back onto the road.

Dean sank back in the seat with a silent groan. He'd meant what he said: he did believe in Sam and that he would do everything possible to save Dean. And maybe he would come up with something, because Dean had learned a long time ago not to underestimate his little brother. But if—when—he didn't, Dean would look out for him one last time and help him get ready to go it alone. That was the only thing left on his to-do list.

He turned to Sam and smiled faintly. "So, what else is on your list? Streaking across campus? Setting a new record for eating the most hardboiled eggs? Sleeping with Keira Knightley?"

Sam didn't even bother answering, just gave a long-suffering shake of the head.

Okay, so he'd also make his brother's life a little more interesting in the time Dean had left.

It was a plan.

**The End**

_Author's note: This was written about a year before _Croatoan _and Dean saying he'd never seen the Grand Canyon._**  
**


End file.
